Rams’ White Makes Quite a Comeback

His coach, John Robinson, calls him “the toughest man I have ever known.”

Charles White would have to be.

Lots of guys can fake out Lawrence Taylor, get around Howie Long, get behind Dave Duerson. Lots of guys can take on Brian Bosworth.

Joe Cocaine is something else again. Mr. C holds his ground. He doesn’t respond to head fakes, side jukes, stutter steps, quick cuts. You can’t run over him. He laughs at you.

You thought John Matuszak was tough? C makes him look like something in a tutu.

Some tacklers take out your knee, your ankle, your elbow, even your neck. Mr. C takes out your mind. The rest of you follows. By the fourth quarter, you’re his. He stands there and laughs at you when you get the ball. He knows you’re not going anywhere.

Sugar Ray Leonard may be voted comeback athlete of the year. He’s got a case.

But so has Charles White. He should win it hands down. No one has come from as far back as he has.

Reflect back to the beginning of the season, when he was found wandering around Brea using a garbage lid as a shield, a modern-day Man of La Mancha looking for God-knows-what windmills to tilt at.

If anyone had told you that day that Charles White, by Christmastime, would be leading all of pro football in rushing, you would have wanted to yell for help. How do you win a rushing title in a straitjacket?

Someday, the story of Charles White will make a fascinating and important book. How he took his first drink, his first toot, snort, smoke and why he felt he had to.

Charles White, in 1979, was the best football player on the planet. He was, statistically, the greatest runner in USC football history. He had rolled up 6,517 yards in 1,147 carries. He is the third-leading rusher in collegiate history.

USC never lost a bowl game with Charles White in the backfield, winning four.

As a freshman in the Rose Bowl, in 1977, he took over for the late Ricky Bell, concussed by a tackle by Michigan’s Dwight Hicks, and rushed for 122 yards and the key touchdown.

In the 1980 game, with his team trailing, 16-10, with 5 minutes to play, White led a winning 83-yard drive in which he carried the ball for 71 of them, 6 of 8 plays, including the one for the winning touchdown. He set the Rose Bowl record that day with 247 yards on the ground.

You looked at Charles White’s statistics and then you looked at Charles White and you figured there must be some mistake. The statistics added up to a guy 6 or 7 feet tall, 230-240 pounds, with a 30-inch neck.

Charlie looks more like a newsboy than a truck driver. He stands 5-10 and weighs 195, and he usually has an arm or a leg or a finger in a splint.

Nor is he one of those guys who becomes invisible. Charlie runs at you. He plays the game as if his nickname should be the Horse, not the Flash. He was so good, USC had Marcus Allen blocking for him.

When he went to Cleveland, his fans thought the Browns had been fooled by the packaging. He was the 27th player picked, demeaning for a Heisman Trophy winner, and when they found out he carried the ball only 86 times his first year and 69 his third, they thought someone was making a terrible mistake.

Someone was. It was Charlie.

He had found a cornerback who stopped him in his tracks, behind the line of scrimmage, who was throwing him for a loss in every way. White didn’t need a weight room, he needed a rehab center. He was up against the defense no one had been able to run on.

Cocaine was keying on him. White was running himself out of bounds.

People clucked in sympathy, shook their heads and said, “Too bad about Charles White.”

When he signed with the Rams as a free agent, everyone thought it was a nice gesture on the part of his old coach, John Robinson. He could draw a paycheck as caddy for Eric Dickerson. Maybe he could learn to hold on kicks.

What everyone hoped was that he could, so to speak, keep his nose clean.

When Eric Dickerson left, painting the Rams as the Alcatraz of football, they gave Charles White the football, but nobody expected too much.

All of a sudden, it was like old times. Charlie got the ball 35 times a game, his mind was clear, his legs were fast and all at once it was raining touchdowns, and the Rams climbed out of a hole and into contention.

“I get stronger the more I carry the ball,” White was explaining as he toweled himself off in the locker room after a 33-0 rout of Atlanta last Sunday in which he scored twice and ran for 159 yards and a 5.5 average. “I’ll run till I can’t walk. I can’t establish a rhythm carrying the ball once in a while.”

But with the ball came headlines. Reporters with microphones, cameras, notebooks. Middle linebackers are easier.

At first, Charles White ducked. Ran. Hid. Uncharacteristically headed for the sidelines.

But cocaine loves darkness, secrecy, the hiding places. It works best in the dark.

So, Charles White decided to confront Charles White in the daylight. He opened the curtains, let the light in. He went on network TV, and his locker now is a Mecca for postgame journalists.

He beat Michigan and Ohio State in the Rose Bowl. He pulled the Rams out of a ditch.

But, even if he goes to a Super Bowl, Charles White’s greatest gains will be after the crowds have gone home and the cameras have blinked out and the flags are taken down.

That’s where it’s always fourth and long. That’s where he has to show how tough he really is.